The Bitter Past and the Dark Present:
Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless…
Merry's eyes came open slowly and he found himself staring at the domed roof of a bedroom, so high up. He hesitated, merely staring for a moment, and then above him appeared the lovely face of Eowyn, the White Lady. If she was even called that anymore, he did not know, but he would always know her as that. She smiled down at him faintly, her long blond hair falling down the sides of her face freely and she lifted a hand to his face, caressing his soft skin gently.
"You have been asleep for quite a while, my friend," she said quietly to him and he did not understand why she had ever been called cold, not with the love that glowed upon her tender face. He gazed at her, as if she was a divine vision, and he whispered, "Pippin? And Gimli?"
The woman seated herself beside him on the bed lightly, her hand dropping away to cup his own small one. "They are here as well. And they have also slept for long nights, but you the longest. Do you not feel well?"
The hobbit frowned slightly, only then slowly coming awake. "It has been a long time since we've slept in beds and it has been difficult," he said softly.
She nodded that she understood and he knew that she probably did. "It has been a long journey for you, I know," she reassured him. "Gimli has told us much of your flight but so much more needs to be told. And Pippin has worried himself nearly to death over you. They wish to see you."
Merry smiled at that. "I wish to see them as well," he murmured, and slowly, he lifted himself in the bed. His body felt sore in all places possible and he grimaced faintly, stretching out the muscles that had fallen out of use over the days he had slept. "Have I really slept so long?"
"Several days," she replied, gazing at him caringly. "We worried greatly."
Merry paused, hunching forward in the soft bed. "I can imagine," he said. "And I am the last one to awaken?"
She nodded her assent.
The hobbit hesitated then, studying the blankets surrounding his small frame. "Is there no word about Legolas?" he asked faintly.
Eowyn tilted her head, her eyes saddening. "None, I'm afraid. When we found you we had been merely scouting the area. We never expected to come across you and when you told us of Legolas we searched the immediate area. There are still several riders searching but as of yet there has been no word." She leaned forward a bit, looking at him and he lifted his eyes to hers as she said quietly, "The King has worried as well."
Merry's eyes widened. "Aragorn?"
The White Lady nodded. "He had been here for a few months now and he has been by your side every day, as with your friends. He has already sent out more riders to search for Legolas and…Jei."
The name seemed strange coming from the White Lady's lips and Merry looked at her reluctantly.
"And nothing?"
She shook her head. "Nothing."
The hobbit gazed at her for a moment more before his eyes dropped away. It was done, then. If they had not been found yet it was because they were not meant to be found. Perhaps the River Anduin had finally claimed another and this time it had been the elf and the girl. He bent forward sadly, lifting his hands to his face to find weary wrinkles there.
"There is something else, however…" the White Lady murmured and the hobbit lifted his eyes to her quickly, his hands lost in his curls as he had just run his fingers through his locks.
"Something else..?" he questioned.
"Concerning the girl. Jei," she replied and she rose then, away from the bed. "But Aragorn wishes to see you about it himself. Yourself and your friends," she said as she faced away.
Merry frowned at her back as she stood before him. "But…what is it?"
She did not answer him, only looking at him over her shoulder. "He will see you about it. I am sure they are all waiting for you to awaken to speak about it." She nodded to him, facing him once more, her hands clasping before her. "They have been waiting for several days."
Merry gazed at her, his thoughts furious. "Then…I am late."
She smiled faintly. "Indeed."
Pippin let out a happy shout the moment Merry entered the large room and he threw himself at his friend, embracing him tightly. "Dear Merry, I feared the worst…"
Merry returned the embrace fiercely. "Well, I don't know why. It wasn't as if I were hurt to begin with-"
"And for that, we are relieved," came a firm voice and they both whirled together to face the speaker.
Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and the King of the Reunited Kingdom, stood only several feet away, his hands clasped behind his back as he waited for them. Beside him stood a beautiful woman, with pale skin and dark hair, a crown lost in the tumble of waves.
"Aragorn-" Merry said and from behind came Gimli, growling.
"Had us worried half to death, waiting for ye to wake up," the dwarf rumbled, arms crossed over his powerful chest.
"We thought his snoring would wake you up but nothing, not even a peep," said Pippin with a shrug.
"It was a long journey," said the woman and they knew her as Arwen Evenstar, daughter of Elrond Half-Elven and Queen beside Aragorn. She gazed at him regally but tenderly, and murmured, "but it is over now, your passage. And you have returned alive."
Merry shook his head sadly. "But not without loss."
Aragorn shook his head. "We have not found a body yet," he said quietly. His dark hair lifted a bit as he turned away and even in his royal attire he would always be Strider. Or Aragorn. Even though he was now king of all the men on Middle Earth. He paced away a bit, a hand lifted to his mouth thoughtfully and Arwen came forth then, her eyes looking deeply into Merry's and then over to Pippin and Gimli.
"The girl with them, Jei was her name?" she asked them softly.
The three of them nodded slowly and uncertainly.
"Dark-haired, dark-eyed? With a chain around her neck?" she continued and she moved away from them, floating over to a table draped with scrolls and old parchment. The hobbits wandered over to her, Gimli following behind not as quickly.
"What is this about?" Gimli asked suspiciously.
Arwen was slow in answering as she looked through the parchment pieces, her gentle face pinched in worry. "I hope to find that out now," she whispered, and she looked at them firmly.
Legolas' eyes came open, slowly, and his vision blurred. The floor was cold and hard underneath his form and the chill ran through his entire body. He did not understand how he could feel such a chill, he had never felt such a freezing iciness. He shivered faintly and above him, the ceiling came into view and it was nothing but a stone ceiling. He exhaled softly, blinking once more and he opened his eyes again, forcing his vision to focus. It did again and this time it stayed, the dark ceiling looming far above.
His chest ached. Reaching blindly and sorely, he lifted a hand to his chest and instantly winced as his fingers came into contact with mauled skin surrounding a bandage. With a small frown he lowered his gaze to his chest and saw his torn tunic, stained crimson with his blood, and a soaked bandage against his skin. He fell limply, his hand pressed to his heart, and again felt that cold chill. It froze him to the floor, and froze even his thoughts in his mind.
Out of the corner of his eyes he saw a dark silhouette and he immediately sat up, his heart suddenly beating. A moment later he was overcome with the pure agony of his wound and he let out a cry through clenched teeth, hunching forward to soothe the ache. But the pain did not bring heat and he sat with his hand to his heart, feeling the bandage become wet with fresh blood.
He knew the reason for the cold. A ringwraith stood sentry at the door of his icy prison. Legolas lifted his eyes to the black rider, breathing raspily, and he stared at the old king, studying the creature. But he saw nothing beneath the black hood and all he felt was that same freezing draft.
The metal door in the room suddenly unlocked loudly and Legolas stiffened, straightening cautiously, as the door came open slowly. The ringwraith did not move at all, only standing with his long arms at his sides, one holding a sword at the ready.
Jei entered. But Legolas' eyes narrowed, almost fearfully, for he felt the moment he saw her face that the woman was not Jei.
But she was beautiful. In the darkness, she had a dark beauty, the beauty of shadows, and her skin was the palest white. Pale enough that all the shadows of her form seemed a blue-gray. She seemed to be corpse-like, draped in silk blackness, and even as he stared at her in growing disbelief, she was lovely.
Upon her chest, between her breasts, dangled a silver chain. And upon the chain was the ornament he had wondered about, from the beginning. The form of a silver dragon against a silver moon, dangling there upon the flat bone of her chest. It seemed cold there and he knew, at that moment, the chill that cold metal had upon living skin. He wondered if she felt that same cold. If she felt anything at all.
"Legolas," she said softly, her voice husky. And as he stared into her eyes, he saw they were the deepest black, like obsidian, the material of Ebony. And the swords were even then strapped to her back, to her slender shoulders.
As she came in, a second ringwraith followed, and this one had a crown upon his dark head.
Legolas looked from the ringwraiths to Jei, to her eerie darkness. She smiled at him faintly, her lips, devoid of color, slowly turning up as she gazed at him with those large black eyes.
"At last, I see you with my true eyes," she whispered to him.
"Did you see what the chain was, the small ornament on it?" Arwen asked the hobbits and Gimli, looking through the parchment, searching.
"N…no," Pippin answered reluctantly, glancing at Merry. "Only that she took it off the body of that child, Palin. Her companion. She always touched it, always held it, but we never really caught a glimpse of it."
Arwen frowned faintly, pausing in her search. "The song. I don't remember the song…" she whispered and the hobbits looked at each other and then at Gimli. The dwarf merely shrugged. The elven queen paused, leaning over the table of scrolls, and she looked toward Aragorn. "In all the archives of Minas Tirith, is this all we have?"
Aragorn looked at her over his shoulder, arms crossed over his chest. "We have not even the vaguest idea of what to look for," he said to her.
Arwen turned back to the table and she merely stared at the scrolls, at the numerous parchment pieces littering the tabletop and even the floor surrounding the table. "It is so close to me, the song. An old song, but I don't remember the words…" and she suddenly whirled on the hobbits and Gimli, eyes purposeful. "The sword. The black-hilted sword! Did she carry a black-hilted sword?"
"Ebony!" Pippin cried with a quick nod. And then, with a small frown, "but also Ivory. She had two blades, elven-made, and she named them Ebony and Ivory-"
"Ivory…" Arwen whispered and her eyes were suddenly mournful, gazing at the hobbit sadly. "She carried Ivory as well, then…"
"You know her, then?" Merry asked, his stare hard. "You know who she is?"
Arwen looked at him. "She?" she asked softly and her face became firm. "No, Merry. I know of them."
Jei came to him, floating in blackness, and she paused before him, staring down at him with those unnatural eyes. He returned the empty gaze and when she suddenly pulled forth the black blade he found himself recoiling, pushing himself backward against the wall. She smiled at him once more, almost teasingly, and slowly bent a bit, turning the hilt to face him.
"They say she shows you your darkest desires," she said to him softly. "Did I not once say that to you?"
He stared at her and then his eyes went to the hilt, staring reluctantly. "Yes," he answered her quietly.
She nodded to him. "And what do you see, Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood?"
His eyes went to the hilt once more and in the darkness he saw himself. Only himself. Not even the dark stone wall behind him. Only himself. He looked at her once more, after a long moment. "I see myself," he whispered.
Her eyebrows came up, and she threw him a look. "Is that so?" she asked and she pulled away from him once more, lifting the blade to examine it herself. "Is that so?" she said again, only this time in a softer, controlled tone. Musing.
Legolas merely watched her.
"You know what that means, do you not?" she asked him in a conversational voice.
He did not.
"It means you have no dark desire, beautiful elf," she said to him and her large black eyes narrowed as she gazed at him. "But then…we all knew that was what you would see. Because you are an elf. Your one desire is to sail for the Undying Lands now. And that is not a dark desire." She paused, nodding to herself, and she slowly returned the blade to its sheath strapped across her back.
"And what does Ivory show?" he asked quietly, feeling as if he spoke too loud, such was the silence in the room.
She glanced over her shoulder at the white-hilted sword, throwing the blade a withering look. "That sword never showed me anything," she said in an offhand tone. "White. The color of innocence. Of all things good." She chuckled once. "I've always loathed the sight of the sword."
Legolas did not have her continue that train of thought. She did not seem to be very forgiving should she be angered. His eyes went to the ringwraiths in the room and he hesitated, his skin prickling.
She watched him with the same smile on her face. "I do not bite, Legolas. Ask your question." Her teeth were white and sharp, almost, as she spoke, and he was rewarded with the sudden vision of a hungry wolf.
"It is not a question. Only a request," he said slowly, carefully. "A request to hear your story." And he lifted his eyes to hers, gazing into them, unafraid. They were of the blackest gems, glittering with a cold shimmer, and he felt that same icy shiver, only his time he knew it emanated from her. She seemed darkly immortal, a hard shell with a vacant space inside, hollow. As if her soul had long since fled, her skin devoid of color, of life.
She smirked faintly at him and then cast a glance to the two ringwraiths in the room. "You know my story, Legolas. Do you not?" she asked, turning back to face him. "Do not patronize me, I haven't the strength to stop myself from killing you."
Legolas did not reply for a moment but he had no doubt that she could very well rip him limb from limb had that been what she desired. And he looked toward the door once more, wondering if he could ever make it should he decide to escape.
"Them?" Merry asked her, frowning almost angrily. "Who is them?"
Arwen looked at the table of parchments once more and then flung her hand out uselessly at them. "The two women of Isildur. That is what this is all about, what it has been about from the beginning, isn't it? The light and the dark?"
Aragorn came to her, staring at her with a dark frown. "The two women. But that was a song, a tale. They didn't exist, there is no record of them, there never was."
"What are you talking about?" Pippin cried, bringing them back to the matter at hand. "What two women? And what does any of this have to do with Legolas if it has been ages since the death of Isildur?"
"There were two women," Arwen turned to them as a group. "The loves of Isildur. And I can not, for the life of me, remember the White Lady's name. But the Black Lady…her name," Arwen hesitated, eyes thoughtful. "Her name was-"
"Jeinen."
The woman's eyes became hard for a moment and Legolas stared at her, bringing his eyes away from the metal door that was his escape. His eyes narrowed, the blue of his pupils dark as well. "That was your name once, was it not? Jeinen?"
She did not reply, her frame stiff, her arms lifting to cross over her pale breasts, to conceal the silver dragon.
He stared at her for another moment, stonily, staring into her eyes and even into her soul, before dropping away. "Whatever the case, death is a release. It is my last destination. I have done and had everything else."
Her haughty expression suddenly turned even more so. "Everything, my dear elf?" she asked with a cold smile. "Are you quite certain of that? For I see you anxious to sail the Sea and yet…not once have I heard mentioned the name of an old love…" she arched a brow at him.
Legolas did not reply, his head bowed.
The woman nodded in satisfaction. "I thought not," she said quietly. And she bent forward a bit, her tone dropping to be heard only by him. "You can not live life and not be touched by love, elven prince. Without that…you have not lived."
The elf also nodded at her words, his eyes fastened to the ground. And then, slowly, he lifted his piercing gaze back to her face and he gazed at her from only inches away. "And that explains why you are still here, does it not?" he asked her faintly, his breath warm against her skin and it was the only warmth he had to give.
But she had turned wary. "You know not of what you speak," she whispered sadly to him. She raised a hand to his chin, her skin icy cold and for the first time he felt that no matter what he did to warm her, she could never be warmed. He gazed at her mournfully, his blue eyes flying from one of her black eyes to the other and he saw the iciness there as well. She tilted her head at him, her hair falling down the sides of her pale face and it fell long and black, like a curtain of darkness. "Do you know what it is to die for love?"
His eyes held to hers for a moment and in that moment he almost seemed to pity her. "I know what it is to try," he replied.
She stared at him for a moment, a small moment, before her face hardened. "No, foolish elf. To try is simple. It requires action. Movement. Nothing at all. You do not understand what it is you have done until it has been done. To die for love…that is to understand." She dropped her hand to his chest, clasping a hand over his heart, above his own hand where it had slipped away in absentminded confusion. He felt her coldness through the bandage, his blood running icily as she pushed against the wound, but he did not think she did it to him on purpose. "It is to understand here," her hand tightened again, "that you have given the greatest sacrifice. There is nothing else after that, elven prince. To die for love…is to live in its name."
Legolas stood silent, staring at her and bleeding into her hand. But in his eyes she saw understanding. She lifted that hand away from his heart to see it stained in his blood and for a moment she gazed at it, her paleness and the dark crimson mark. Her eyes rose and caught with his, merely content to gaze at him with her hand before him. And she lifted that hand close to his face, her fingers reaching to touch his skin. He did not pull his gaze from her face, even as he saw his blood in the corner of his vision, and he swallowed the impulse to recoil as she touched him with those soiled hands, dragging her fingers across his smooth skin. "I feel her love for you," she whispered to him, almost dreamily, gazing at her fingers as she brushed them across his jaw. "Even through the veil that separates us. I hear her speak, I hear her cry…the foolish girl, believing herself to be a martyr already. Foolish, foolish girl…"
The elf waited for her to continue, stiff as she brushed the corner of his lips.
She stared blankly, looking into a far off world that he could not see with his elven eyes. "I was like her once, so long ago. Lost in love. Blinded by the words of a man, his confessions. A young thing always wrapped around her father's legs, wanting to be a part of it all. So many beautiful things, my life. Riches. Devotion." She broke off, fingers trailing across his bottom lip. "But a twisted love it was. Any of it. All of it. My father's love…" she paused and slowly turned her head to look over her shoulder to the ringwraith that had entered with her. The one her eyes came to rest on continued to stand silently, motionlessly, but he held his own sword and he was the very vision of evil and blackness.
Legolas looked over as well, over her shoulder.
"Twisted…" she said with a small smile. "Fate…is twisted. But it all works out in the end."
Legolas returned his eyes to her as she turned back to him once more. "Does it?" he asked her faintly, looking into her deep eyes. "Forgive me for not holding to that. But I would understand why you would think it."
Her smile was lovely. "Of course you would," she said simply. And then, as if it had suddenly come to mind, and as if they were the best of friends, "Did you know she was an elf?"
"Jeinen?" Merry echoed, staring at the elven queen. "I don't understand. Who is Jeinen? The Black Lady, the White Lady? I don't understand any of it!"
"Her name was Jei, not Jeinen," said Pippin and he suddenly seemed fearful, gazing at Arwen as if he did not want to hear and did not want to believe. And they all understood then that he did not wish to associate Jei with the woman Jeinen for it could only be the next logical step. "I know what you're going to say, and you're going to say that Jei and Jeinen are the same person but Jeinen lived thousands of years ago, in Isildur's time and Jei lives now. And she is our friend."
Gimli crossed his arms over his large chest and to their surprise he did not counter the hobbit's words.
"But she did say she had no recollection of her past," Merry whispered and he seemed mournful as he spoke. "Do you remember, when we met her, when she explained that she did not know who she was or her past. Only that Palin had named her?"
"Palin?" Aragorn asked him. "The boy?"
"The twenty year old boy…" Gimli said softly but gruffly. And under all the hair on his face his eyes were confused. "The child she set off with, the one who found her, who carried her chain-"
"The boy? What boy is this?" Arwen asked them with a faint frown.
"Just a child," Pippin cut them all off. "Some child that found her without memory and helped her along, taught her things about the world. And he is dead. He has nothing to do with this."
Aragorn stared at the hobbit, his gaze a bit lost. And Arwen beside him straightened and stared at him. "I wish to know more about this boy."
Legolas frowned at her although, strangely enough, his heartbeat quickened. "I…beg your pardon?" he asked her quietly.
The woman nodded, large black eyes blinking dreamily. "Isildur saw her one day, beside a pond, and he fell in love with her. With her beauty, her…elven light." She threw him a knowing look. "He saw her and he wanted her…more than he ever wanted me…"
Legolas stared at her, mind working furiously. Strangely familiar, this little tale was becoming.
The woman nodded once more. "It is her name you wish to know. Her heart you wish to claim. Worry not, my beautiful elf, for you hold her heart to you just as she held Isildur's."
Legolas blinked and it was almost as if he did not hear her. "I do not understand what it is you say…" and his eyes flew to the metal door once more.
She paused, a finger trailing across his lips, and she suddenly laughed jubilantly, her teeth shining. Laughed the way he had never seen Jei laugh. "It is all right. Half the time I don't understand what I, myself, say either," she sighed. "Truth be told, I expected my memories to be muffled. Hidden from me. But they are not. Nor are they hidden from her, really. She just doesn't wish to remember."
Legolas pulled his eyes back once more, as much as he wished not to. "Remember what?" he demanded, causing her to hush before his loud tone. "You want me to understand you, I see that. But you speak in riddles."
Her hand slowly inched away from his face.
He let her, his jaw firm, and something flashed in his blue eyes, a clear understanding. "You waste your time, Jeinen. You want me to believe that you have evil inside you but you won't do anything with it. All you wish is for someone to hear your story and sympathize. Because in the end, Isildur would not."
Dark gray color appeared on her face, the color of her anger, and she shouted suddenly, her black eyes flashing, "You know nothing about Isildur! About myself! About what happened-"
"I know everything," he cut her off coldly. "Just one more fairytale of Isildur's Bane, lost in records, lost in the memory of Man. But not Elf." His eyes narrowed almost furiously, his skin paling from the effort. "The daughter of the High King, the daughter of the Witch King. The Witch Child. That was what they called you. No one believed you really ever existed but it was a wonderful story to tell children. About the missing princess who was never heard from again after the fall of Sauron in the battle plain, Dagorlad. The princess whose father lived as an immortal, only to wither away under the power of a ring. There are stories, Jeinen. Elvenlore, of course, but you existed in those stories. Your love for Isildur as the daughter of the Black Rider Witch King."
Her face hardened furiously, lips tightening into a firm line. And he realized at the moment that her scars had faded away to be almost invisible. His eyes caught on those faint, faint marks, staring quietly, staring at her. The only sign that she was still Jei for even then her face seemed to shift before his very eyes. "Twisted love, you said a moment ago. Yes. Isildur's love for you, twisted by the One Ring, the Ring of Power. What did he promise you?"
She took a step back, hand finally dropping from his face.
"He promised you undying love. Eternal love. If you could leave you father's side and come to stand at his own. And you agreed. Is that not how it goes, your song? You left the right hand of your father and his army of wraiths and creatures, and you devoted yourself to Isildur, fully. And when Sauron fell under Isildur's sword, you were left alone in Isildur's world. But he did not care for you once the One Ring was on his finger-"
"He loved her!" she cried suddenly. "It was not the fault of the One Ring! It was that cursed elven maiden. He strayed because of her!" She bit out the last sentence through clenched teeth.
Legolas' face slowly fell away from anger as he gazed at her, as he saw her pain. Such a harsh and overwhelming pain. The expression on his face turned to sympathy as he merely looked at her. Pity. "No, Jeinen. He did not stray because of her. The influence of the One Ring was his undoing. For I see in you a likeness…no, an image is a better word, of what you once were…and you were innocent."
Jeinen stared at him, breathing rapidly, her eyes large and dark. And suddenly, there rose tears, before those black orbs.
Legolas hesitated for a moment as they welled up and then, slowly, he lifted a hand, reaching for her. "Did you kill her, Jeinen?" he asked softly.
She gazed at him sadly, the tears nearly overflowing and her eyes closed against the touch of his fingers to her cold skin. Only then did the tears fall, brushing his fingertips along their course and her tears were hot. "No," she whispered, eyebrows turned upward. "It was my wish, to kill her. To remove her. But in the end she was her own undoing. She did not return his love and in a fit of rage, he killed her." And she inhaled shakily though her parted lips, her frame trembling faintly.
Legolas nodded that he understood, his eyes searching her face as he caressed her skin sadly. "And you?"
Her expression very nearly crumbled at his words, at the memory, and she bowed her head, her hair falling down the sides of her face. "I went the same way. In a fit of rage. He did not want me after the death of the elf. He even blamed me for it, after a time. And no matter how much I loved him, I felt the threads of the One Ring, still in me." She shook her head slowly. "I have lived thousands of years, my beloved elf, and the pull of the Nine Rings was in me. I spent too much time in the company of the rings that while it was not a direct addiction, it did take its toll on me. And one day, when he decided to kill me in his rage, I promised him I would return for him. In me, the power of the Nine Rings, and the One Ring as well, made it possible but I came too late for, as legend goes…" and she opened her eyes slowly, her gaze dark and murderous, "Isildur went for a small dip in a river and came up dead."
Legolas fought the shudder he felt deep inside.
"Forgive me, then, elf," she whispered and her face had darkened considerably, the tears drying on her face, becoming icy cold as she slowly lifted her head to glare at him, "for blaming both his death and mine on the elven woman. She was our destruction."
Legolas stared at her, expression blank. Years and years of hate, of fierce odium. And jealousy, in the end. His blue eyes searched hers, his jaw clenched firm. And in the hands of the Rings, with the One Ring in such close proximity. Of course she would be twisted and wretched. She was nothing but a wraith like her kin, now. The tears she had cried. Those had been Jei's. Not Jeinen's. Even the face he saw now, it was Jei's. His eyes saddened and he shook his head, pitying her once more. "And yet, you take on her face. Jei's face…is her face, the elven woman's face, even with the darkest hair. Why?"
She stared at him, tilting her head questioningly. "How do you know this face to be hers?" she asked in a ghost of a whisper.
Legolas lifted his eyes to her hair, to her brow, across her cheeks as he studied her, his fingers gentle against her skin. "I saw her in a dream once…" he murmured.
She smiled faintly, slyly, at his words. "Of course you have. All elves, with their world of dreams and light. Of course you would see her. She resides in them still." She pulled back, away from his searching hand, and away from any warmth he could have offered. She merely looked at him for a moment, hesitantly. As if weighing the option of telling him something. And then, "Have you seen the mirrors, Legolas?" she asked and at his frown she waved off the question. "No, of course you haven't, lying nearly dead in this room. At the moment, we are in Barad-hur, the Black Tower. Only with the fall of the One Ring and Sauron, it has become my new home." She motioned about, to the entire room. "This black tower has been remade into what I wanted, what I desired. And outside, the walls and floors are lined with mirrors. Mirrors, everywhere."
Legolas nodded slowly to show he understood.
"The mirrors," she said again. "I can walk through these corridors and see her face and I become stronger. My resolve is strengthened and I remember why I returned. But the truth of the matter is not that I take on her face. It is my punishment as well." And she paused, looking about at the black walls of the room, wordlessly. She seemed lost then, surrounded by darkness and lost like a small girl.
"Your punishment?" he questioned faintly.
She inhaled deeply, her shoulders and chest rising, and the silver dragon was visible. And then she exhaled weakly. "For deserting my father in his hour of need." And she looked over her shoulder once more, to the Ringwraith with the crown. She lifted her hand to the silver dragon and her fingers caressed it in an absentminded gesture. "When my charm was found, pulled from the tar of Mount Doom, he felt my soul, my power, in it still. He could revive me, revive our empire. But to ensure that I did not abandon him again he set out in search of someone. And he found her, a young girl. He stole her away in the night and he brought her here. And here they tied her down, sewed her mouth shut, and placed the charm upon her. I awoke inside of her and now I am the person you see before you. And she is me. The elf reborn into an human body identical to the one she had in her past life." She nodded almost imperceptibly. "Fate is indeed twisted."
Legolas stared at her as she smiled once more.
"She is the Ivory. I am the Ebony. And the swords were created to represent the Two for One." Her dark eyes returned to his. "You do know the prophecy, do you not? From your…Elvenlore? Your elven memory of childhood, perhaps? A Silver Dragon against the Moon, of flesh, bone, wisdom and magic. Her flesh and bone, my wisdom and magic. Two for one under Sky and Stone. The sky for the Elf, the stone for the wraiths, where we lived inside our stone fortresses. Where the light and darkness wreak their havoc." She shrugged faintly. "I feel the war inside of me, inside this weak body. She fights still, for control. For her life once more. But this is my territory. Here I am strongest. And here I dominate." And she rose to her feet at last, looking down at him almost piteously.
He returned the look, warily.
"So now the question remains for me…what do I do with you?" she mused and she cocked her head a bit thoughtfully. "I want to kill you. I think I would enjoy it. After a certain time I loved the feel of blood on my hands…" and she looked down at the hand that had pressed to his wound, at the crimson stain that had dried and now soiled her fingers. "But…at the same time, all I want to do is hurt you. Make you hurt. Because it makes her hurt. It has been a long time since I have tortured anyone and I think an elf would be a wonderful creature to start with once more." She smiled with a gleeful shrug. "Two for one. You could not hope for a better price."
Legolas merely looked at her, sending her a withering glance. "You are all words and anger, Jeinen. I will not scream and I will not cry should you decide to kill me. I will go quietly if that is how it is to end but know in the end that no matter what you do, you will still be second to the Elf. In Isildur's eyes…and in mine." And his eyes narrowed coldly.
She stared at him for one long moment, her frame stiffening imperceptibly. And then anger broke loose on her face and with an enraged shriek she lifted her arm and swung at him, her fist striking him in the corner of his mouth.
Blackness swarmed his vision and he went wordlessly.
"But we know nothing of Palin. We never met him," Pippin argued, looking from Aragorn to Arwen. "The day in the Prancing Pony, when the Ringwraiths came for her, he was already with her and he died that very day. We know nothing else."
"But it is strange that after everything, he would die," Arwen murmured, her fingers tapping the table thoughtfully. "After twenty years in which he did not age a day, why die that day? And at the hands of a Ringwraith. He was not an elf, was he?"
Merry and Pippin glanced at each other but it was Gimli who spoke. "He was a human child, small and frail. And so was she, human in appearance. But she was dark at times. Darker than the night…"
"Gimli…" Pippin whispered and he sounded defeated.
"Of course she would be…" Arwen whispered and she stared out, toward the wall but far beyond, they knew. "Of course she would be dark. And of course he would still be a child, even after two decades."
Aragorn looked at her warily, his jaw clenched. "You are not thinking what I think you are thinking…" he said cautiously.
She nodded slowly, absentmindedly. "The Istari do not age…" she said in the faintest of whispers.
Pippin's eyes widened, Gimli straightening in disbelief. "Are you saying…the boy was a Wizard?" he asked, looking paler than the palest ghost.
The Queen shook her head, turning finally to look at him. "I am saying they both were." She replied.
Who's your daddy?? LMAO!! Man, ok, so now that a whole big-ass chunk of Jei's past came to light, you guys HAVE to review and tell us whether you expected that at all! I ended up doing just about this entire chapter because Aes went off and got herself like a twelve hour workday job that's killing her so she had like no time but she did give me tips on what the chapter should actually be about. She has a bit of the next chapter done but if she can't finish it in the next few days I'll take it over for her til she gets a more normal schedule. =)
Anyways, hope you guys liked it! It was a nice long chapter so leave me alone now! =P
I think the rest of her past finally comes out in the next chapter. Or more on the Istari part, anyways. ;)
-Cassie